


Stress

by avoidingavoidance



Category: One Piece
Genre: Bottom Vinsmoke Sanji, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Punk Hazard Arc, Post-Timeskip, Top Roronoa Zoro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29922027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: In which Sanji is stressed out, and Zoro tries to figure out why. (Key word: 'tries.')
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 2
Kudos: 140





	Stress

There’s something off about the cook.

Not the usual form of ‘off’ either—Sanji is best described at all times by the word ‘strange.’ No, this is a different sort of off, and something about it is really annoying Zoro.

Come to think of it, the cook’s been off ever since they got themselves situated in the New World. It’s subtle, but even after two years Zoro knows the man well enough to know when something’s bothering him.

He smokes a lot more, for one, which one might not think is possible, except for the fact that half the time Sanji has a cigarette in his mouth, it isn’t lit. When something’s wrong, though, the man turns into an actual chimney, and Zoro ends up taste-testing for him more often than usual.

There are other tells, of course; the way the cook holds himself, the way he talks and laughs, how social he is. All of it adds up to a complete picture, and when that picture is unhappy, it bugs Zoro.

Not for any specific reason.

That said, the cook’s been particularly off ever since they left Punk Hazard, which makes Zoro particularly cranky.

\--

Jarring as it is, Breed kidnapping Caesar makes for the perfect opportunity to corner the cook. The ship isn’t going anywhere, watch is plenty covered, and he knows for a fact that Sanji’s awake, and likely won’t go back to sleep until the Caesar retrieval team returns.

Now it’s just a matter of finding his dumb ass.

Zoro barges into the galley first, frowning when he finds it empty. He takes a brief detour to find something to drink while the kitchen is unguarded, but to his dismay, the shitty cook seems to have rearranged everything again.

Figuring he can just bully some sake out of him later, Zoro continues his search. Cook’s not in the infirmary, nor their cabin, nor the crow’s nest. He checks the galley again, just in case he’d overlooked him somehow, his frown growing steadily deeper the longer he looks.

As he’s crossing the lawn for the fourth time, drumming his fingers against Wado’s hilt, Usopp calls out to him from the upper deck. 

“Oi, Zoro, you lost?”

Rather than dignify that with a response, Zoro flips him the bird with his free hand. He turns toward him after a moment, though, scowling at the teasing look on his face. “You seen the shitty cook?”

“Sanji?” Usopp blinks owlishly, then thoughtfully rubs his fuzzy chin. “I think I saw him go to the bar after Luffy and them left. Was he not there?” Zoro stares blankly at him, and he stares right back, looking progressively more awkward until he finally squeaks, “The aquarium bar? The one right under the kitchen?”

“We still have that?”

Usopp’s jaw drops, then snaps shut again a few seconds later. “Yes, Zoro, we still have that. If Franky wasn’t asleep right now, you’d never hear the end of—”

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have moved it, then.”

“Oh my god, Zoro—”

Zoro glowers at him, rubbing his thumb over Shusui’s hilt menacingly. “Just tell me where he is, asshole.”

“You _must_ be—it’s literally behind you! Did you get dropped on your head a lot as a child?”

He keeps a straight face, but Zoro rubs the back of his head idly, briefly reliving the punishing _clack_ of Kuina’s bamboo sword against his skull. Dropped, maybe not, but regularly dumpstered? Definitely. 

Rather than answer Usopp, Zoro turns as instructed, opening the first door that enters his line of sight. Fortunately, he recognizes the long-lost aquarium lounge, but more importantly, he recognizes the faint smell of black tea and cigarette smoke coming from within. Bingo.

He pauses long enough to lock the door behind him, then stalks into the lounge, glancing around to make sure they’re alone. 

Sanji’s slumped over at the mast table, a half-empty mug of tea in front of him, next to an overcrowded ashtray. He’s not asleep, but he’s probably damn close, given the exhaustion clearly weighing him down. 

Zoro moves into the room properly, gently lining his swords up on a plush couch cushion before collapsing onto the next one over, behind the cook’s chair. He laces his fingers behind his head and kicks his legs out for good measure, taking up as much room as he can just to be a nuisance.

Neither of them speak for a while. Sanji definitely knows he’s there, so he doesn’t bother announcing his presence more than he already has.

After a few minutes, the cook sits up and stretches, leaning back into his chair with a deep breath. A few of his joints pop, but they’re both used to the creaking and complaining of each other’s bones by now.

“They back?” the cook asks without turning around.

“Nope.”

“Hm.” Sanji yawns widely, then lights another cigarette, lazily piping smoke toward the ceiling. “What do you want?”

Zoro quirks an eyebrow at the back of Sanji’s head. “Do I need a permit to nap in here now?”

Sanji snorts and shakes his head. “Do you nap in here?”

Thinking briefly, Zoro realizes he can count on one hand the number of times he’s been in this room, and all of the previous times were over two years ago. Safe from the cook’s shrewd eyes, Zoro idly rubs his unpierced ear and mumbles, “... Sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sanji leans his heavy head in his hand and continues smoking, so Zoro takes a moment to really look at him.

‘Exhausted’ is probably putting the cook’s current state very lightly. Even from behind, he looks like he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks, beaten down and picked back up again far too soon, never getting quite enough rest. Sleep deprivation is fairly common for them as a crew, but Sanji usually manages to roll with it, even though he’s generally lucky to get five hours of sleep a night.

Aside from Nami eating an entire building in Sanji’s body, Punk Hazard hadn’t even been particularly challenging for either of them. Hell, all the cook really had to do was lug Nami’s giant tits around, which had hardly seemed like a chore for him.

Zoro, on the other hand, had to run all over creation, half the time juggling a squirming, complaining Navy captain, which is inarguably more effort than a pair of relatively well-behaved breasts. That being said, Zoro feels just fine, thanks very much.

Having disengaged his brain-to-mouth filter many, many years ago, Zoro looks at the back of Sanji’s head again and flatly states, “You look like a corpse. What’s wrong with you?”

The cook wheezes at that, briefly choking on smoke before throwing a very dirty look over his shoulder. Zoro blinks when he sees the heavy, dark circle under the cook’s eye, nearly as deep as Law’s, all but confirming his dire lack of sleep.

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” Sanji spits before angrily chugging the rest of his cooling tea, clearly intent on leaving.

He swings himself out of his seat, but before he can stomp away, Zoro braces one of his boots on the back of the chair, blocking Sanji’s escape route. The cook glares at him, pointedly ashing his cigarette onto Zoro’s pants, as if he gives a fuck about the state of his clothes.

Sanji heaves a cloudy sigh, then frowns down at Zoro. “Seriously, moss, what do you want.”

“To know what’s wrong with you. You got water in your ears?”

The cook scowls deeply, but averts his gaze almost shamefully, which is a really fucking strange look on him, and one that sinks an unsettled stone in Zoro’s gut. 

“Just haven’t been sleeping well,” Sanji finally mumbles, and it’s such a shitty half-truth Zoro can’t help but snort, which just pisses Sanji off again. “You can’t ask what’s wrong with me, then laugh at my answer, jackass. That isn’t how that works.”

“I’ll laugh at your shitty lies all I want, shit cook.”

Sanji huffs irritably. “It’s not a lie.”

Zoro purses his lips. He supposes not, but it’s a far cry from an answer to his question, too. Sanji’s starting to clam up, though, and realistically, there’s no way Zoro’s gonna get an answer out of him when he’s like this, so he shifts his focus.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” he jeers, knowing Sanji will hear what he actually means.

‘You don’t have to tell me right now, but I’m not forgetting about it.’

The cook deflates slightly, but subtly nods. He leans toward the table to put out his cigarette, then arches an eyebrow at the leg still blocking his path.

It’s true that Zoro had come to find out what’s wrong with Sanji, but that’s hardly his only motive. Even if the cook won’t tell him the cause of his recent insomnia problem, Zoro can still try to help him fix it.

So, rather than get out of his way, Zoro lets his eye drag down Sanji’s long, slender body, not bothering to hide his interest. That interest only grows when he sees those strong thighs press together slightly, all but squirming under Zoro’s intent gaze.

He flicks his eye back up to Sanji’s face, enjoying the light flush now clearly coloring that too-pale face, then rumbles, “C’mere.”

The effect of his low, rough voice is familiar now, but it still sends a thrill of heat through Zoro to watch Sanji swallow heavily, his eyelid fluttering, tongue barely peeking between his thin lips to wet them.

As affected as he clearly is, Sanji drops his hands into his pockets and stubbornly juts his chin out. “I don’t have to take orders from the local plant life.”

Zoro huffs a short laugh through his nose. “Shut up,” he starts, before lowering his boot to the floor. “And come here, cook.”

He should probably bitch about having to repeat himself, but the flash of dark heat that fills that blue eye distracts him before he can. Sanji nearly shivers at his tone, too, which is honestly enough of a win in Zoro’s book.

Sanji looks briefly like he wants to protest again, but it seems like what Zoro’s promising appeals to him more than any potential spats. 

Smooth as always, Sanji comes to stand in front of Zoro, who leaves his hands behind his head. He watches the cook look him over, his teeth finding his lip as his eye traces the solid lines of Zoro’s chest. He shakes himself out of it, though, instead leaning one knee on the couch next to Zoro’s thigh. He wants to reach up and grip those narrow hips, to pull the man into his lap properly, but he maintains his relaxed posture, stubbornly holding eye contact. 

Before long, Sanji caves and straddles him of his own accord, comfortably parking his ass in Zoro’s lap. Zoro grins crookedly, unconcerned for the dirty look the cook gives him. 

“Well, I’m here,” Sanji sneers, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” Zoro hums in reply. His smug grin widens, at which Sanji narrows his eye, clearly suspicious. “Good boy,” he croons teasingly, keeping their comfortably antagonistic air just so neither of them get too embarrassed. He knows what those words do to Sanji, though, even if the cook manages to school his expression into something carefully neutral.

“Fuck you,” Sanji mutters, his cheeks attractively pink.

Zoro just sighs, wrapping his arms around Sanji’s narrow waist. He pulls the man close and nudges his nose under the strong line of his jaw, pressing a warm kiss to his slender throat just in time to feel him swallowing again.

As he kisses down sensitive skin, he feels Sanji uncross his arms, letting him gather him closer. Zoro hums appreciatively, closing his eye when clever fingers gently brush through his earrings, then curl into short green hair. Sanji tugs, just hard enough to get Zoro’s attention. He leans out of that pretty throat with a frown, but Sanji’s quick to kiss it right off his lips, which Zoro supposes is a fair enough tradeoff. 

Eye fluttering closed, Zoro leans into the kiss, eagerly licking between those flushed lips. Sanji lets him in with a tiny, cute sound, tangling his tongue with Zoro’s and clinging to his hair, his shoulder.

Without pulling his lips away from Sanji’s, Zoro drags his hand up his chest, brushing aside his loosened tie. He trails up further, catching a button between his fingers, and before he can even joke about ripping his shirt open (again), Sanji growls into the kiss. Zoro’s kind of impressed by how hard that sound makes him. Huffing a laugh, he backs off, instead focusing hard on slipping the stupidly tiny button through the stupidly tiny hole.

“Oh my god, mossball,” the cook groans once the first button finally comes undone. “How many times have we done this, and you still can’t figure my damn shirt out?”

“’S stupid. Stop wearing shirts.”

Sanji actually laughs at that, and the sound makes Zoro realize how badly he’s been missing it. “In your dreams, you shitty pervert.”

“I don’t wanna hear that from you.”

Sanji just snickers, and as much as Zoro wants to take it out on his stupid, frustrating shirt, he also really wants to fuck the cook, so he stows it for later. Instead, he grumbles and shifts his attention back to those buttons. He manages another two before Sanji’s impatience outweighs his amusement and he takes over for him.

With a vaguely grateful grumble, Zoro pulls the cook closer and kisses up his throat again, eagerly putting his hands all over the skin Sanji’s slowly revealing. By the time the shirt’s open, pulled out of his pants and hanging loose from his strong shoulders, Zoro’s petting him almost feverishly, rolling his hips up and breathing heavily against his racing pulse. Sanji’s so damn hot, it’s actually kind of unfair, so Zoro decides to take that out on him too for good measure. 

He lets the cook pull him back up to his lips with a short grumble, but he eagerly leans into him anyway, slipping one arm around his strong, narrow waist to tug him closer.

Sanji grins against him, no doubt ready to tease him about being clingy, so Zoro kisses him harder, then slips one hand between them to roughly palm the hard line of Sanji’s cock where it’s tenting his pants. 

Thoroughly distracted, Sanji cants his hips into Zoro’s hand, gasping quietly between kisses. Zoro hums raggedly, nipping at Sanji’s lips, then moves his hands to the cook’s belt.

He manages this more easily than the shirt, but just barely, grumbling about complicated-ass, unnecessary clothing. Once he’s yanked it out of the cook’s belt loops, he tosses it aside, not all that concerned with where it ends up. Sanji gives him a dirty look for it, but he kisses him again anyway, so he can’t be all that bothered.

Once he’s finally unbuttoned Sanji’s pants, he digs his hand into them, wrapping his fingers around him as best he can through his boxers. Sanji gasps, pulling harder on Zoro’s hair, so he gives him another, tighter squeeze, his free hand falling to grip Sanji’s strong thigh.

Sanji groans softly, arching into Zoro’s hand, which grinds his ass almost maddeningly against Zoro’s aching arousal. His breath hitches, but before he can redouble his efforts, Sanji’s plucking at his haramaki. “Off,” he breathes, his eye dark with arousal, tongue barely peeking between his lips to wet them.

Zoro’s not normally one to take orders from people who aren’t Luffy, but damn does the cook make it sound like a good idea.

He grumbles just for show, wrestling the belly-warmer up his chest and over his head. He tosses it aside, then works on hauling his own shirt off. It’s gotten tighter in the last two years, which he supposes doesn’t surprise him, but it does make it difficult to haul the straining fabric over his shoulders.

As he’s wrestling with the shirt, Sanji snickers at him, clearly amused by his struggle. Before Zoro can encourage him to shove it, though, Sanji’s slipping out of his lap entirely, which is a pretty big problem in Zoro’s book.

He yanks hard and the shirt finally comes free, so he frowns at the cook and grouses, “Where the hell are you going?”

Sanji grins crookedly, his hips tilted forward, his slacks hanging loose and perfectly framing the bulge of his arousal against his boxers, which only makes Zoro’s mouth water a little. “Aw, I was hoping you’d stay stuck. It’s a good look for you.”

As Zoro opens his mouth to tell him to shut the fuck up, Sanji laughs again, then comes to kneel between Zoro’s thighs. That derails Zoro’s train of thought entirely, effectively short-circuiting his entire brain, which just makes the cook look even more smug.

Zoro likes to think he doesn’t have any weaknesses, but if he did, it would definitely be that fucking mouth.

It’s obvious Sanji knows it, too. That proud grin lingers even as he leans in and rubs his cheek against Zoro’s cock through his pants, those sacred hands of his dragging languidly up Zoro’s thighs. Zoro clicks his tongue irritably and drops his shirt on the floor, and as much as he wants to thread his fingers through Sanji’s hair, he instead laces them behind his own head, spreading his thighs invitingly. 

As he’d hoped, some of the smugness on the cook’s face falls away, replaced by an annoyed frown. That frown turns determined just as quickly, though, which simultaneously arouses and concerns Zoro. After all, that determination has always turned him on, but it’s so much worse when it’s aimed at him.

Without further ado, Sanji reaches up and undoes Zoro’s pants with a yank, easily hauling them down his hips with his underwear. Zoro’s cock bounces out and slaps against his stomach, flushed and heavy with arousal, at which Sanji licks his lips, subtle but clearly interested. He wraps his hand around him, giving him a brief, loose stroke before shuffling forward and wrapping those soft lips around the head.

Zoro focuses on keeping his breathing steady, even as Sanji slips him deeper into his mouth, clever tongue working him over so perfectly. His eyelid flutters, but he keeps it open, intent on watching the cook go down on him.

No matter how many times he sees it, Zoro doubts he’ll ever get used to how incredibly hot Sanji looks like this. His eye is closed in concentration, a light flush dusting his cheeks, which hollow around Zoro’s cock every time he pulls up, all while his hands grip the hard lines of Zoro’s hips, those thumbs rubbing tiny circles along sensitive skin.

All of those things would already be enough to get Zoro rock hard, but that’s not even taking into account how obscenely fucking fantastic Sanji is with his tongue.

Zoro’s been trying for ages to figure out exactly what the hell the cook could possibly be doing with his tongue that feels _that_ fucking good. It’s rather hard to focus on it in the moment, though, because Sanji’s a demon that feeds on the fragments of Zoro’s soul that he sucks out through his cock, and that generally commands all of his attention.

Right now is no different; loath as Zoro is to admit it, Sanji’s smugness is well-earned. Zoro’s already panting softly, heat sparking all through him, his arms tense, hips twitching into the cook’s hot, wet, perfect mouth.

In the low, blue light of the lounge, Sanji looks incredible like this, even when he opens his eye and glances up at Zoro, a flash of amusement crossing his face. Zoro huffs, but bucks his hips up, mumbling, “Quit laughing, asshole.”

Sanji rolls his eye, but doesn’t pull his mouth away to respond. Instead, he takes Zoro deep, burying his nose almost eagerly in dark, rough curls at the base of his cock, and when he swallows around him, Zoro can’t bite back his ragged groan in time. He squeezes his eye shut, struggling not to arch into that tight heat, focusing instead on steadying his breathing again.

It seems the cook’s had about enough of Zoro’s self-control, though. He swallows again, then goes back to bobbing his head over his cock, moving quicker and sucking harder. Zoro’s thighs tense hard, which the cook must feel, because he hums lowly as he sucks him deep, earning himself a strangled curse.

Before he can stop himself, Zoro’s curling the fingers of one hand into soft blonde hair, rubbing the rough pads of his fingers behind Sanji’s ear appreciatively. Sanji hums at the feeling, then pulls up enough to work his tongue over Zoro’s foreskin, over the sensitive head of his cock in a way that has Zoro seeing stars. He fists his hand loosely in the cook’s hair, tugging encouragingly, and thankfully, he obliges him.

With a low moan, Sanji swallows him deep again, his flushed lips working Zoro’s soaked cock so fucking perfectly. The only things keeping him from fucking that incredible mouth are the strong hands on him, those short nails drawing lines all along Zoro’s hips, the feeling somewhere between tickling and maddening.

Zoro groans again, giving up on suppressing the sounds Sanji’s so good at pulling out of him. He slips his hand down to Sanji’s hollowed cheek, brushing his knuckles along the pronounced line of his cheekbone. The cook moans at the feeling, his brow furrowing slightly as he picks up his pace again.

As he moves, Zoro pants for him, his eye barely open at this point. Sanji’s so fucking _good_ at this, it drives him crazy, but as much as he’s enjoying this, it’s far from the only thing he wants from the cook right now.

Before he can lose his cool, Zoro tugs Sanji’s mouth off his cock, grumbling at the loss of that wet heat. He keeps pulling, hauling Sanji into his lap for a brief, rough kiss, then turns and all but tosses the man onto the couch, quick to move between his spread thighs. He leans down and kisses him again, eating up the shaky sigh Sanji breathes into him as he drags his hands along his sides, his hips, lightly scratching his nails through the soft blonde hair trailing down Sanji’s stomach.

Sanji leans his head back with a rough groan, his hands pulling Zoro’s hair encouragingly, so Zoro takes the opportunity to kiss down his pale, slender throat, which earns him another pretty huff from the cook. 

He drags his teeth along Sanji’s collarbone, his thumbs firmly tracing the lines of Sanji’s muscular hips. When the cook arches into the attention, his spine curving away from the sofa, Zoro uses that opportunity to pull his pants and underwear down, licking his lips at the way Sanji’s cock bounces heavily against his flat stomach.

“You got something?” Sanji asks breathlessly. It’s a vague question, but Zoro understands it and nods, then reaches into his pocket for the small jar of oil he’d grabbed from his locker during his earlier search.

Zoro wouldn’t call himself a patient man, but having the cook’s mouth on him generally robs him of any patience he’d had to begin with. He finishes yanking Sanji’s pants off with a huff, tossing them onto the floor before ripping the cork out of the jar with his teeth and spitting it in a random direction. Sanji snickers at that, and at the way Zoro splatters oil onto his own pants in his haste to slick his fingers, so Zoro gives him a dirty look, then moves his hand between Sanji’s thighs and pushes one dripping finger into him mercilessly.

The cook hums raggedly and spreads his thighs further, effortlessly showing off his absurd flexibility in a way that has Zoro’s cock dripping. He bites back a moan and focuses on his fingers, thrusting and curling the one inside his lover intently.

He watches himself work greedily, licking his lips as he slips a second finger into that tight heat. Sanji shivers under him, then reaches up and yanks him down into another needy kiss, moaning into him when Zoro buries his fingers deep and curls them. He repeats the motion and licks between parted lips, hoping for more of those little noises, comfortably settling his weight over him as he does. The shift lets him grind his cock against the smooth join of Sanji’s thigh, so he does, rumbling quietly and making a wet mess of the cook’s sensitive skin.

Sanji swallows heavily and leans his head back with a smokey curse, rocking his hips into Zoro’s, his hands gripping Zoro’s biceps tight enough to leave pale imprints of his fingers. He’s squeezing around his fingers too, so tight and perfect Zoro can’t help but groan. He picks up the pace, working a third finger into him briefly before the cook’s squirming gets the better of him. 

His hands are steady as he pulls them away, as he gives himself a few slick strokes with the oil still coating his palm, even as he shuffles closer and lines himself up. After a brief glance at Sanji, who’s staring between them and chewing his flushed lower lip, Zoro rocks his hips forward, pushing steadily until the head of his cock slips inside him.

Bulletproof self-control or not, Zoro still breathes a low, hitching groan as Sanji’s heat surrounds him. He butts his head against the cook’s jaw, then sits up straight, pulling his hips into his lap.

The view is _way_ too good like this. Sanji’s all sprawled out under him, flushed pretty, his open shirt already disastrously wrinkled, his hard cock dripping onto his stomach, and it takes just about all of Zoro’s self-control to not stuff his whole cock into him in one quick move.

Instead, he sinks deeper in patient thrusts, taking his time because he knows it drives Sanji crazy. He tries to look between them at where he’s spreading Sanji wide, but that view is actually too good.

His cock twitches hard as heat floods all through him, so he exhales slowly and looks up at the cook again, taking distinct pleasure in the aroused frown on his face. He grins crookedly and grinds deeper, his hands settling on the cook’s strong hips to keep him from squirming.

“Stop smirking, jackass,” Sanji huffs, dragging a hand through his mussed hair.

Zoro just snorts, not dignifying him with a response otherwise, and certainly not doing as he’s told. 

When he finally buries himself deep, he sighs heavily and closes his eye, his hands gripping Sanji tight. As strong as he is, it’s not quite enough to prevent the man from wiggling, defiantly rocking into Zoro’s lap and panting quietly. 

“Knock it off,” Zoro rumbles.

“No,” comes the immediate response, not that Zoro had expected anything else. “Oh my god, you shitty houseplant, _move_ —”

Zoro cuts him off by pulling his hips back, then snapping them forward again, stuffing the cook so full it wrings a breathless little squeak out of him. He grins again and repeats the motion, fully aware of what this angle does to Sanji.

Between the sharp arch of his propped-up hips and the hard curve of Zoro’s cock, each thrust drives the thick head of his cock against Sanji’s prostate, the pressure impossible to ignore. It has the cook squirming, biting his lip hard and gripping Zoro’s knees as tight as he can manage. The flutter of his eyelid is distinctly pleased, as are the panting breaths Sanji huffs through his nose, so Zoro leans into this rhythm and starts fucking him properly.

With the next insistent buck of his hips, Zoro pulls Sanji’s hips further into his lap, grinding hard before repeating the motion. He knows Sanji can’t take too much of this angle before his brain starts leaking out of his ears, which is absolutely why he does it. Licking his lips, Zoro picks up his pace, fucking the cook harder, faster, until the man under him can’t contain his noises anymore.

The sight of Sanji struggling to keep his composure is definitely one Zoro enjoys, but he likes the way he looks and sounds when he loses control even more.

He fucks Sanji in deep, steady strokes, roughly pulling their hips together each time, the only thing tempering his own arousal being the way Sanji’s lips part around rushed, heavy breaths. Those breaths hitch whenever Zoro stuffs him full, the cook’s nails digging into the loose fabric of Zoro’s pants, and god, it’s getting so hard to keep himself under control like this. 

The first shaky moan Sanji breathes just about topples Zoro. He grinds hard into him for a moment to get his bearings back, his eyelid heavy, hands tightening on Sanji’s hips. Before the cook notices, Zoro moves his hips again, but there’s no denying how much Sanji’s affecting him.

So, he fucks him harder, teeth digging into his lip. Sanji arches and trembles under him, his eye rolling closed as he lets out a gasping moan.

Despite his exhaustion, the cook moves intently into every thrust, even when Zoro tries to hold him still. He keeps their rhythm so easily, those powerful hips rolling so damn fluidly it draws a brainless groan from between Zoro’s clenched teeth. 

In response, Sanji shivers under him and _whines,_ the sound familiar and so damn hot Zoro loses his rhythm for a moment. The cook makes the sound again, louder this time, his shaky voice forming a word that could almost be Zoro’s name.

Before he can really process that, Sanji’s reaching up and yanking Zoro’s hands off his hips. Off-balance, Zoro has no choice but to let Sanji pull him on top of him, but he just about loses his will to complain when Sanji leans up and kisses him desperately. 

He licks into him with a groan and shifts his weight, then starts fucking him again, unable to contain the winded moan he lets slip when Sanji wraps those lethal thighs around Zoro’s waist and squeezes tight.

Just to keep up appearances, Zoro leans into Sanji’s ear and bites sharply, the pain just enough to have the man tightening around his cock. He sighs hot at the feeling, then grumbles, “So fuckin’ needy.”

“F-fuck you,” Sanji replies succinctly, his nails dragging hard down Zoro’s biceps. 

Zoro grins at that, bucking his hips hard just to get another of those tiny squeaks out of him. “After this, sure,” he snorts, but the way Sanji squeezes around him has them both groaning raggedly.

Zoro rests his forehead against Sanji’s cheek, swallowing heavily, but soon enough the cook’s tugging him into another desperate kiss, and this time Zoro lets himself fall into it entirely.

He fucks his tongue into his mouth with a rumbling sound, fueled by the feeling of Sanji pulling his hair, tightening his thighs around him, rocking into every movement with badly-contained eagerness. Zoro gives him what he wants, leaning his weight into every rough thrust. It’s getting so much harder to ignore how incredible the cook feels around his cock, but based on the overwhelmed little sounds he’s muffling against Zoro’s lips, and the way he’s arching and tensing, Sanji’s getting just as close as he is. 

Eager to help him along, Zoro shifts onto one elbow and wraps his other hand around Sanji’s soaked cock. The man snaps his hips into the attention, moaning loud and unabashed against Zoro’s lips, so he tightens his grip and strokes him quickly, groaning at the way Sanji twitches under him.

Sanji’s head falls back against the couch again, his flushed face so pleasured Zoro can barely look at him. He growls under his breath and leans into the cook’s ear again, fucking him faster just to hear more of those brainless moans.

He nuzzles his nose against the turn of Sanji’s jaw, gasping at the way he can feel the cook’s orgasm building around his own aching cock. “C’mon,” he vaguely hears himself murmur, his desperation bleeding into his voice. “Come on, cook, come.”

_“Fuck—”_

Zoro groans against Sanji’s ear, then swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, loving the way he snaps his hips into the attention with a rough, bitten-down moan. He repeats the motion, pounding into the cook roughly, unevenly, and as his lover draws tight against him, his hands scrabbling down Zoro’s chest, he loses his mind a little and breathes, “C’mon, _Sanji—”_

The cook breaks at that, throwing his head back with a short, loud, unrestrained cry, his come spilling hot over Zoro’s knuckles, and if that didn’t do it for Zoro, then the way he clamps tight around him certainly would.

Those powerful legs clench around his hips, but he barely notices, too busy muffling his own ragged moans against Sanji’s pulse as he fucks his come into him. He bucks his hips until he can’t take the feeling anymore and buries himself deep, too enamored with the way the cook feels to pull out just yet. 

Sanji doesn’t seem to mind it. He just clutches Zoro and tries to catch his breath, his body slowly melting into the sofa.

Once he has his wits about him, Zoro sits up again, licking his lips subtly as he takes in the view. He wants to drag his hand down Sanji’s sweat-slick chest, but before he does, he notices the sticky come still dribbling down his fingers. Undeterred, he wipes his hand on the first piece of cloth he finds, which unfortunately happens to be the extremely rumpled shirt still clinging to Sanji’s shoulders.

“Hey, fucker,” the cook bleats, immediately shoving Zoro off him so he can sit up and examine the fabric. Zoro flops back into his original sitting position, fingers laced behind his head, a cocky smirk spreading over his face as Sanji huffs and puffs about his shirt.

Before long, Sanji’s dressed again, begrudgingly wearing Zoro’s shirt instead of his own. Unfazed by his own shirtlessness, Zoro relaxes while the cook lights a cigarette, still complaining to himself. 

They have another few moments of peace before a ruckus starts up on deck, signaling the return of their captain, presumably with Caesar in tow. Sanji sighs, then folds his shirt up and stuffs it down the back of his pants, already making his way to the door. It’s still locked, so the exhausted cook walks straight into it, then scowls back at Zoro as he laughs at him.

“You know there’s like four doors into this room, right?” Sanji spits, clearly ruffled. “And none of them are Luffy-proof?”

Zoro just shrugs, still chuckling at the cook’s expense even as he unlocks the door and throws it open, snarling about going to bed so he doesn’t have to exist around such a clingy, shitty houseplant.

Rather than join them on deck, Zoro slouches down and commits to a nap, falling asleep easy as breathing even through the sounds of Caesar bitching.

\--

On Zou, Robin tells him what she knows about the Vinsmokes and Germa 66. He scowls harder the more he hears, and as she talks, everything falls into place in his head.

They’ve been hearing port rumors of Germa sailing the New World ever since they got here. Seeing as they’re literally comic book villains, Zoro hadn’t cared at the time, nor had he expected anyone else to, so he’d completely misunderstood the tension secretly growing in the cook with every mention of that dogshit militia.

Zoro wants to go with the Sanji retrieval team, half to beat some sense into the cook and half to obliterate his shitty dictator family, but he knows better than to put himself in a situation where he’s almost guaranteed to lose his cool and start shit with an Emperor.

Instead, he stays behind with the rest, then quietly sails to Wano, doing his best to hide his concern.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [twittr](https://twitter.com/gaarbage)


End file.
